Page 2 of Pro Gamer's Aim

So I move the couch.

It must work, because twenty minutes later I am in end-game with five other people. My avatar runs without tiring (I envy that bitch), jumps, scales tall walls, and slides down mountains while still looking as glamorous as the moment I equipped her as my visual aesthetic.

Must be nice to be pixels on a screen.

My controller buzzes as my screen flashes red. Shit. Someone is shooting at me. Where? Where?

Fuck!

Top five! That means four people are left, and one of them is shooting me. Shit. The map is much smaller by this point. I run and spin, trying to see what direction the bullets come from.

Bang!

Fuck, he's behind me. Of course he's behind me. I dodge behind a tree and quickly shift to my assault rifle, my hands sweating. I must have been yelling, because Milo jumps out of his dead sleep to dash across the room and hide behind his favorite potted plant. His two brain cells must have registered danger. I love that dog, but he would definitely not save me if someone broke into my home.

Somehow I manage to fumble-finger my way into shooting back at my attacker, who inexplicably moves closer without shooting back. Shotgun! Shotgun range! I accidentally switch to my healing item and discard it. Oops.

Bang bang bang! And there goes three-quarters of my health. Talk about an expensive hospital bill.

"Fuck! Don't fucking shoot me! Give me a fucking minute!" I start hopping my avatar around like a bunny as my shaking hands try to catch up with my brain. Okay, switch back to my guns. Shotgun! Got it. I aim and fire.

Big miss.

Okay, calm down. You can do it, Sam. You can do it. Aim. Aim. Shoot.

A hit! Yes, took his health down. Okay, he misses me. Hopping like a bunny is good. Keep hopping, keep aiming, keep—

"Why are you trying to kill me? Stop it! Stop! STOP! I didn't do anything to you! How long have you been stalking me for? Are you playing with me right now?!"

Adrenaline rushes through my body in bursts of heat. There is no way this guy doesn't know I am a hell of a lot less skilled than he is. He is absolutely playing with me, right? He has to be.

My suspicion is confirmed when he lets me run away and follows behind without shooting. I grapple a wall and dive into a building, sprinting through corridors to make it to the stairs. If I can get around a corner somewhere, it would give me a little breather. I can reload my shotgun, then shoot him when he comes in to get me. I have a chance, I just need to take it.

"Ow!" My shriek belongs on Broadway, because I scream like the character has actually attacked my physical body as he comes in from nowhere, swinging a giant scythe at my character. You'd think guns trumped close combat weapons in this game, but that apparently only applies when you have any semblance of skill whatsoever. "Stop slicing me, you fucking psychopath!"

And then my back door shatters.

Chapter two

Chapter 2

Asher

Moving to the suburbs of my childhood home is a decision that shocks no one who knows me, but everyone who knows me would be surprised to find out that I'm slumming it in an apartment instead of my own house.

With a dog next door.

Liam:

Just a reminder, the other side of the duplex is a young lady with a dog. Do not kick her dog. Repeat: Do not kick her dog.

Aiden:

Hundred says he kicks it before the weekend.

Liam:

She's a good tenant who never causes problems, and the dog doesn't either. Don't kick the fucking dog, Asher.

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